Ain't That a Kick in the Head?
by VolceVoice
Summary: Neal examines his feelings for Kate and goes after some answers, with a little help from his friends. . .including the Rat Pack. As if "Free Fall" never aired . . .
1. Ain't that a Kick?

**Disclaimer: I don't own any part of this show or the USA Network. No disrespect is meant to the Network or to the writers or actors of **_**White Collar**_**.**

**This story is set right after "Flip of the Coin" and contains spoilers!**

**I'm a huge fan of Dean Martin--Rat Pack member, actor, and singer--and I'll bet Neal Caffrey knows Dino's stuff, too. ****One of Dino's most well-known songs is "That's Amoré" and another is the title of this story. Both can be found on Youtube.**

**I guess that makes this my first songfic, as well as my first _White Collar_ story! _Please_ let me know what you think!**

*******

The case was finally over and Neal needed a drink. And company, he decided, with a touch of surprise--he'd had a lot of both lately.

But Peter was busy reuniting a framed soldier with his tearful wife and reclaiming his house in the process--besides, he'd done enough drinking over the past few days. Moz was off enjoying the the limo for a few hours before Neal nagged him into returning it. Even Jones was escorting the concussed bad guy and his blonde accessory to jail.

That left Lauren, who promptly refused.

"C'mon," he said, trying his best smile. "You almost talked that guy into shooting me--the least you can do is buy me a drink."

She hesitated, then agreed. "All right." She straightened the jacket of her business suit. "Where?"

"Don't worry, you look great--like a sexy accountant." At her frown, he added, "I know the perfect place."

"I'll bet you do," she said, but a corner of her mouth was trying to smile and she let him put his hand at the small of her back to guide her away from the crime scene.

At his direction, she drove them to a piano bar Neal had found while exploring his new neighborhood. The lights were low, the music was soothing, and the drinks had no umbrellas or salt rims.

Neal watched Lauren relax into her comfortable leather armchair. "You know," he said over bourbon on the rocks, "I've never seen anyone pull a gun that fast. You're good."

She took a sip of her gimlet. "You weren't so bad yourself," she said. "It wasn't your fault the bad guy spooked."

"That sounded like a compliment." He grinned. "Did it hurt?"

She grinned back. "If your ego gets any bigger, your hat won't fit. And that," she said, "would be a tragedy."

His eyes widened. Miss No-Nonsense Agent Cruz was _flirting_ with him. "You think so?" he said.

"Neal Caffrey without his fedora would be like . . . Dino without amoré," she said. She set her drink aside to unbutton her jacket, then picked it up again.

"Dean Martin, huh? _Robin and the Seven Hoods_ or _Rio Bravo_?"

"_Ocean's Eleven,_" she said._ "_You're both old school classics. Carefree façade with a solid core. A definite romantic streak. And too handsome for your own good." She drew out her swizzle stick and brought the olive to her lips. "Gentlemen delinquents," she said, and bit down.

"You think so?" His throat felt dry, and he swallowed some bourbon without taking his gaze from her mouth.

She shrugged, breaking the mood. "I convinced my thesis committee," she said.

"About that," he said. "I don't remember answering any interview questions."

"Your case file and rap sheet were extensive. And you were only in a chapter or two." She smiled. "Five at the most."

"And you still don't have any questions?" he asked, back on safe ground. "There must be something that isn't in my file."

"Okay." She leaned forward, her camisole dipping to show golden skin. "I'd kind of like to know how you managed to get past Herman Goldthwait's security systems and back out again--that Donatello marble must have weighed at least 300 pounds."

"That's an _alleged_ crime," he said, holding up a finger. "I don't have anything to say about my _alleged _crimes. Ask me about something they proved I did."

She actually pouted. "That's no fun. Why not tell me how you allegedly did it?"

He reached over and took her empty glass. "Because you might go all FBI on me and ruin a perfectly nice evening. But I will say this: Timing," he held up the glass without looking and neatly intercepted a waitress passing behind him, "is everything. The lady will have another gimlet. _Two_ olives. Thank you."

"The Caffrey magic," she said, shaking her head.

He smiled. "It's your turn," he said. "Tell me a story about your wacky Quantico days."

After a pause, and the arrival of her drink, she did. Then Neal related the time "a friend in the business" found himself the inadvertent owner of a genuine early Jackson Pollack that was so ugly he couldn't get anyone to buy it, even when he tried eBay.

"A _friend_, huh?" Lauren said, laughing.

"Yes, a friend," said Neal, smiling at the memory of the hideous, priceless artwork hanging in Moz's storage unit, right above the army cot. "Do I look like someone who would have trouble selling an authenticated painting?

"You look like someone who wouldn't have trouble selling a crayon scrawl on a paper towel as a genuine Picasso. _Allegedly_," she added, as he held up a finger.

They exchanged more stories, each more outrageous than the last until Lauren finally looked at her watch. "It's getting late," she said. "We should probably call it a night."

Neal tossed a few bills on the table, and helped Lauren on with her abandoned jacket.

"Thank you," she said, turning to smile at him. One of her combs slid out of her hair, and Neal plucked it from behind her ear and handed it to her. "Oh, I _knew _they wouldn't stay," she said.

Neal reached around and pulled out the other one, letting the rest of her thick hair fall around her shoulders. "Why, Agent Cruz," he said in a shocked voice. "You're beautiful."

"Thank you," she said, her eyes sparkling. "Escort a tipsy lady home?"

"I'd be delighted." He offered an arm and they laughed their way to the car. She tripped once, and he caught her close for a breathless moment before she found her feet.

She looked up at him, face flushed, lips parted, and he couldn't help dipping his head . . . but she looked away to fish in her coat pocket and held up a key ring. "You'd better drive."

It occurred to him as he maneuvered the car through the streets that it would be awkward if she lived outside his two-mile limit, but it would be even more awkward to mention it. Luckily, it wasn't long before he glided into an free space in front of her building.

"The Caffrey magic," she said, as he held the car door open for her.

"Just good, old fashioned luck," he said, breathing in her scent as she passed him.

They rode the elevator in companionable silence up to her floor and down the hall, glancing at each other and smiling.

She stopped in front of a door. "Home sweet home." He unlocked it for her and handed her the keys. "Thank you," she said. "I had a good time."

"That was the general idea," he said, leaning against the wall.

"Where's your hat?" she said, frowning. "You didn't leave it at the--"

"I didn't wear it tonight," he said. "It didn't fit the persona."

"Oh." She sounded disappointed. "Neal Caffrey without his amoré."

"I wouldn't say that," he said, wondering when the distance between them had narrowed, when his hands had moved to her waist.

"There was one thing your file didn't mention," she said, her hands sliding up his chest to his shoulders.

He bent his head closer. "What's that?"

"You have the most beautiful eyes," she said, and put her lips to his.

Her mouth was soft and warm, and so was her body. His hands found the edge of her camisole, touched smooth skin.

He shouldn't be doing this. His conscious, rusty from underuse, told him that that this wasn't _right_, that he was cheating several people at once. The irony wasn't lost on him . . .

She made a sound in her throat, caressed the back of his neck, deepened the kiss.

. . . but it had been a long time since he'd been close to a woman--being groped by a murderess didn't count. Almost four years since he'd held someone and been held. Three years, ten months, and eight days, to be exact, though he hadn't known that he'd kept close track until now.

After so long, there were no wrong willing women . . . right? And _this_ woman, this gorgeous, brilliant, tough woman . . .

He closed his eyes and gave in, held on tight, lost himself in mutual want, mutual need. . .

_Oh, Kate_ . . .

. . . but Kate didn't feel like this, or smell like this, or taste like--

He pulled his mouth away, his hands reaching up to unwind her arms from his neck, feeling her pulse race under his shaking fingers. "No," he said. "I can't."

She went still for a moment, staring up at him, then took a deep breath. "Kate," she said, as if she understood.

"You know about Kate?"

Lauren gave him a small smile. "She had a couple of paragraphs all her own."

Neal ran a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry," he said, finding no glib words, no patter . Just the truth. "I'm sorrier than I can say, but--"

She put a finger to his lips. "But you're classic old school," she said. "Loyal to a fault." She went on tiptoe to kiss his cheek, then slipped away. "Goodnight, Neal."

"Good night, Lauren," he said to her closed door.

He walked home, welcoming the night air. When he went inside, he heard music from the living room, something from Byron's vast collection of records. June was singing along in her marvelous voice.

"How lucky can one guy be? I kissed her and she kissed me . . . "

Neal went upstairs without stopping, the music following him. His hat was where he'd left it and he turned it around in his hands as if it might hold some answers. He put it on and moved to the bookshelves, to the empty bottle with the map written in lemon juice on the label. _Kate loves the classics . . . _

"Like the fella once said," Neal sang softly, running his thumb against the faint lines. "Ain't love a kick in the head?"

*******

**So . . . what do you think? Any and all comments are appreciated!**


	2. Everybody Loves Somebody Sometime

**This wasn't supposed to be more than a one-shot, but then I thought about it . . . and I wanted to see where it went.**

**Once again, the musical accompaniment is courtesy of Dean Martin: "Everybody Loves Somebody Sometime . . . "**

*******

Neal tried to sleep, but his mind kept jumping from one thought to another, from the Bordeaux-flavored kisses of a beautiful thief to the gin-scented embraces of a gorgeous cop. From the unfamiliar sensation of guilt to another irresistible replay of the unexpected sensations he'd felt tonight . . .

He gave up, threw on his robe, and went downstairs. June was sitting at the games table, writing something in a leather-bound journal and humming along to a different song.

_Everybody loves somebody sometime . . . Everybody loves someone somehow . . . _

He cleared his throat and she looked up and smiled a welcome. "Neal," she said. "I thought I heard you come in a little while ago." She took off her reading glasses and studied him. "Is something wrong?"

"Couldn't sleep." He pulled out a chair and sat, rubbing a finger against the green baize. "But I don't want to interrupt you," he added, not bothering to hide the lie.

She raised her eyebrows. "Job troubles or women troubles?"

_Something in your kiss just told me__ . . . __My sometime is now__ . . ._

He was eventually going to end up with both, he thought with a grimace . . . but first things first. "Women."

A wide smile blossomed over June's face. "Well, it's about time."

"What?"

"Neal, you're a handsome, intelligent, _charming_ young man with just enough scoundrel in you to seal the deal." She chuckled. "When you moved in, I thought we'd be wading hip-deep in all the stray women who would be following you home." She lifted her shoulders. "But so far, there hasn't been a single one. I couldn't imagine that the entire female population of Manhattan was struck blind at the same time, so I knew something was going on . . . and then I noticed how you look at my granddaughter."

"June," he said, feeling himself squirm for the first time in recent memory. "I swear I haven't--"

She held up a manicured hand. "You look, but looking is _all_ you're doing. It's not that you don't find her attractive--I can tell you think she's quite the dish."

"Just like her grandmother."

"Thank _you_. But you don't seem to be interested in moving beyond . . . basic admiration. And it's not completely out of respect for me, or to keep a roof over your head. You just aren't _available. _It's as if you don't want to be." She tapped her pen on the table. "Maybe you still don't . . . but something seems to have changed."

Neal blew out a breath. It shouldn't be a surprise that June could see through his charm and masks—from what she'd let drop, her husband Byron had been in the game, too, if at a slightly different level. "Yeah. Something's changed."

_Everybody finds somebody someplace . . . There's no telling where love may appear . . ._

"Would you like to talk about it? Or if it's too private--"

A laugh escaped Neal. "It's not much of a secret anymore." And he told her about Kate: their first meeting, their life together--not the exact details, of course, but about the danger and excitement and the promises--her visits after he'd finally been caught . . .and the moment when she'd told him she'd had enough, offering no explanations, or none that made any sense.

"That's why I walked out of prison four months early," he said. "I had to find her. I had to find out _why_ . . . But by the time I managed it, she was already gone. Peter found me there, in our apartment." He shook his head. "I didn't even think about running. There was no point, without her."

"But Peter gave you a job instead of sending you back to prison."

Neal managed a smile. "He didn't want to--I talked him into it. I couldn't search for Kate in prison." He stuck out his left ankle and pulled up his pajama leg to show his tracker. "I can't do too much on the outside, either, but it's _something._ And I've found a few clues . . ."

"But?" June asked.

"But . . . . it's taking so long. I haven't seen her or heard from her in more than six months. And, um . . . there's this agent assigned to Peter . . . she's tough and smart and she doesn't let me get away with anything--well, anything much. And when we worked this last case together--it was like--it was almost like the charge I used to get when Kate and I pulled off a complicated job. . . "

_Something in my heart keeps sayin' . . . My someplace is here_

"And she's here, and Kate isn't."

"Yeah."

"And you feel guilty."

"Oh, yeah." He rubbed his forehead. "I mean, Kate and I--I'm hers and she's mine, you know? Even when we didn't have anything else, we had each other . . . I thought love like that lasted forever. Yours did--you and Byron."

June tilted her head. "Byron and I did have many good, good years. It wasn't always smooth sailing, mind you--I remember a time when he had to go away for an . . . extended vacation, shall we say? But we faced it all _together_. That's what counted."

Neal gestured with one hand. "See? That's what I'm saying. Byron was your one true love."

"My _one_ true love?" She laughed. "Oh, no, no no. Byron wasn't my only true love--but he was my _last_ . . . " Her gaze softened for a moment, and then she smiled and winked. "So far, anyway." She leaned forward and covered his hands with hers. "You might not like hearing this--Lord knows my granddaughter doesn't--but you're young, yet, Neal. Loves will come and go all of your life. Some are worth holding onto, and some are only worth the good times."

_Everybody loves somebody sometimes . . .  
_

"How can you tell the difference?" he asked.

She squeezed his hands and let them go with a pat. "The true ones stick around when the going gets tough."

Neal stared down at his hands. "But what if she couldn't?"

"Then I guess it depends on _why _she couldn't." She sighed. "I'm afraid I haven't been much help."

"No," he said, still staring at his hands. "No, you've helped a lot." He looked up at her concerned face. "Thanks for listening, June." He stood, leaned across the table and kissed her cheek.

"Any time," she said, "Do you think you can sleep now?"

"I'm going to give it a try," he said. "Busy day tomorrow."

___And although my dream was overdue. . . . .Your love made it well worth waiting . . . For someone like you_

*******

**So, should I continue? Anyone want to read more? Please review either way--because if you don't tell me, I won't know . . . **


	3. I Wonder Who's Kissing Her Now?

**Thanks to everyone who commented on this story or added it to their alerts--I **_**really**_** appreciate it.**

**For those of you who hated the idea of Neal and Lauren Cruz, **_**please**_** bear with me and keep reading! **

**This chapter (and part of the next) happens at the same time as "The Portrait" (which _completely_ threw me for a loop--you?) so there are spoilers--sorry! **

**But there are also two Rat Pack songs, including one selected just for Mozzie . . . **

*******

Neal's busy day starting with tracking Mozz down and luring him over with the promise of brunch. And champagne.

"I could get Peter over here with coffee," Neal said, working out the cork the proper way, without spilling bubbles all over June's elegant rooftop patio.

Mozz gave him a look. "I'm not surprised. But you didn't ask a civil servant to meet you at the ungodly hour of 10am, you asked me. And my particular skill set commands a higher bribe than French Roast. Is that the 1995 Krug I asked for?"

"No, it's Dom Pérignon," said Neal, filling two flutes. "I'm not planning to knock over the Met. I just thought you'd like to come on a little adventure with me. I think it's time to--"

"No business on an empty stomach, please," said Mozz. He accepted his champagne and gestured with his free hand. "A little ambiance to go with the view, if you don't mind?"

Neal rolled his eyes and picked up the remote to the outside speakers.

_When the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie, that's amore_ . . .

"This is your idea of ambiance?"

_When the world seems to shine like you've had too much wine , that's amore . . . _

Neal shrugged. "June's been on a kick lately."

"At least tell me there's caviar."

_Hearts will play tippy-tippy-tay, tippy-tippy-tay, like a gay tarantella . . .  
_

Neal lifted the cover from Mozz's plate. "Would I forget?"

_Lucky fella. . ._

"So," said Mozz, after demolishing half an omelet, two croissants, and enough caviar to feel adequately bribed. "Who was that hot librarian you were with last night?"

Neal swallowed a bite of fresh strawberry. "You stalking me, Mozz?"

"Just passing by. Saw you catch her when she tripped. Nice move."

_When you dance down the street with a cloud at your feet, you're in love__ . . . _

Neal set down his fork. "She's an FBI agent. We were on a case." Several hours earlier . . . but Mozz didn't need to know that. Or what had happened afterward.

_When you walk in a dream but you know you're not dreaming, Signore . . ._

"She's an agent? Man, she's gonna seriously cramp your style. Then again, it might be fun to bring her over to the dark side . . ." He caught Neal's glare. "Hey, I'm just sayin.'" He cocked his head.. "And what about Kate?"

_Scuzza me, but you see, back in old Napoli, that's amore!_

"Kate," said Neal, "is the reason I need you." He reached under the table and brought out the bottle that Kate had left him, turning it to show Mozz the map. "We're going on a treasure hunt."

***

Several hours later, Neal stared at the note he'd pulled from the box marked with an X. "No one can deny what we have . . ." Kate had typed.

But she didn't want him anymore.

"Oddly bipolar," said Mozz over his shoulder. "Come on, I'll spot you lunch." He guided Neal down the street to his favorite oyster bar.

Neal didn't protest. The gears of his mind spun, unconnected to any useful thought. "This can't be the end," he said. "It can't just . . . _end._"

Moss sat him down in a booth and slid across from him. He clasped his hands together and set them on the table and spoke over the low music playing from the nearby speaker. "Listen . . . you ever think that maybe it didn't _just _end?"

Neal looked at him.

"Don't get me wrong. I like Kate. But she's been on her own for almost four years, and AWOL for, what, seven months? She left you a map leading to a brush off. You ever think that maybe . . . maybe you two _aren't_ the greatest romantic couple since Robin Hood and Maid Marian?"

A new song played above their heads: _I wonder who's kissing her now . . . I wonder who's teaching her now . . . _

Neal winced. "It doesn't matter if we are," he lied. "This," he slapped the note down. "Doesn't tell me _why_. I need to know _why._"

"Fine," said Mozz. "Maybe she met someone else--maybe even someone with a nice-looking ring--and she's trying to let you down easy . . .in a really complicated way."

_I wonder who's looking into her eyes . . . Breathing sighs and telling lies . . . _

"No," said Neal, thinking about how Kate had looked in the photo Mozz had found, with that hand gripping her arm--nothing like a lover. "No, she would have told me." He glared at Mozz. "She would have _told_ me. If she was h--happier with someone else, I'd have let her go."

_I wonder who's buying the wine . . . For the lips that I used to call mine . . ._

"Sure you would. Okay, here's another: c_herchez le loot_. How do you think--I'll have two dozen on the half shell and a glass of Muscadet," he said, as the waiter appeared. "You?" Neal shook his head and the waiter went away. Mozz leaned forward. "How do you think Kate felt when she found out you moved your stash? Maybe that note isn't so old--maybe she put it there after her wild goose chase to _San Diego._"

"I had to move everything—the Feds were closing in, remember?"

"But you didn't tell her _where_. You're Neal frickin' Caffrey—you can't tell me that you couldn't find one way in four years to let her know. Morse code, maybe? Charades?"

"Mozz. . ."

"I'm just sayin'--ever ask yourself _why_ you never told her? I mean, you outright_ lied _to me, but I never considered myself the love of your life."

"Hey! I provided for her--clean accounts, untraceable credit cards . . ."

"But not a lot of trust."

_I wonder if she ever tells him of me . . . I wonder who's kissing her now?_

*******

**Seems like a depressing place to stop . . . Mozz can be such a killjoy . . . but fear not, hope is right around the corner (near the end of the next chapter).**

**Please review on your way through--this one is getting complicated . . . **


	4. All of Me

**Okay, here's the last of "The Portrait" inspired re-writes. . . I'll admit there's a lot of that episode in here, but it does include Neal's state of mind . . .and a promise of some actual action!**

**And no, I'm not running out of Rat Pack songs--not by a long shot. **

**And a happy holiday to everyone who celebrates Thanksgiving today!**

*******

Neal knew he was lucky that Peter had shown up the next day with a new case--and even luckier that Lauren was off working on something else. He didn't know whether his feelings were real or convenience or a sign of something else. And he knew he couldn't begin to figure it out until he found some real answers.

It did unnerve him that Peter was keeping such close tabs on his movements, although he supposed he couldn't really blame his keeper for wanting to 'trust, but verify' . . . he wondered how many times he would have to prove himself before Peter gave him some credit for being able to handle himself.

Was that how Kate felt? Did she really think he didn't trust her? He did . . . but . . . he tried to set aside the thoughts that ran through his mind in an unending stream.

_Can't you see . . .I'm no good without you . . _

Thankfully, the case was twisted enough to be a welcome distraction--as was the opportunity to use some of his . . . underused . . . talents. The gorgeous Taryn Vandersant was a less welcome disturbance, considering his state of mind, but his mask was well in place . . . until she quizzed him about his past.

_Take my lips, I want to lose them . . . Take my arms . . .I'll never use them__ . . ._

He knew he'd snapped at her, knew he was thrown off his game when the bad guy mistook Taryn and Neal for lovers . . . but it wasn't _his_ fault the bad guy had bolted.

_Your goodbye left me with eyes that cried . . . How can I go on ,dear, without you . . ._

Second time in a row, and _still _not his fault--even Peter had to admit that. Not that he had.

_You took the part that once was my heart, so why not take all of me_

Neal had come home, picked up Kate's note and flopped on the bed--if he was going to be depressed, he might as well wallow. He just didn't _get_ it. Was Mozz right? Had he driven Kate away? She'd even used an impersonal computer font . . . though it did remind him of the label on the bottle . . .

He sat up. And five minutes later, he had it--the _real_ message.

Another chance. A _specific_ chance.

Neal was filled with energy, purpose. Impatience. He filled the three days by focusing on the case and dragging Peter on a little adventure with the bad guy's French lady friend. Peter had _no_ sense of humor--although under the circumstances, Neal could see how he might be concerned about Elizabeth's reaction.

And a certain missing painting. After all, Peter had no idea that Neal was prepared to move heaven and earth to get to a particular phone at a particular time on Friday. Everything else was make work.

The case was settled to Neal's satisfaction--and Peter's, mostly--in plenty of time. And once again there was that oddly familiar electric high as Neal managed a double sting _and_ returned a priceless heirloom to its rightful owner.

Mozz had started called him "Robin Hood." Maybe so . . . His smile faded as he wondered for a moment how Kate would feel about his new job, his new associates . . . would she be content to stay with him until his four years were up?

_All of me . . .Why not take all of me . . ._

He'd be able to ask her soon.

To his irritation, Mozz elected to accompany him, channeling the spirit of pessimism. "Yeah, like I'm gonna let you come alone. What if the man with the ring planted that note?"

"He didn't."

"You don't know that."

But he did. He knew it was Kate, even when nothing happened at the specified time. Kate knew how to make an entrance.

And the phone rang.

It was her. He savored her voice until the background noise intruded, and he realized she was _right there_--close enough to see, to catch, maybe, to hold . . .

_Take my lips, I want to lose them . . . Take my arms . . .I'll never use them__ . . ._

"Listen . . .," she said. "I need you to tell me where you hid everything. The money, the bonds, the art. All of it. . . "

And just like that, the world stopped. Again.

"Why?"

She spoke, but he couldn't understand her reasoning, couldn't understand why she didn't know that they would be stronger together, that he could _fix this._

_Can't you see . . . I'm no good without you . . ._

"You always told me I had to trust you," she said. "Well, now you have to trust me. . . "

It hurt--oh, God it hurt--but . . ."No."

_"I want to come home."_

She didn't understand--how could she not understand? "It's the only leverage I've got," he said, afraid she'd hang up if he tried to say more. . . she was going to hang up anyway. . . he took off after her . . .

_All of me . . . Why not take all of me . . . _

And just like that, she was gone. Again.

He wandered back to Mozz. "She said to tell you she loved you," said Mozz. "Now what?"

_Your goodbye left me with eyes that cried . . . How can I go on . . ._

"She's here, in Manhattan. We _find _her."

Mozz was quiet "Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure! He's after something—the guy with the ring--she's trying to protect me." He turned one way then another, unable to pick a direction.

Mozz grabbed Neal's arm. "This is no time for poor impulse control. Neal! _Stop_ and _think_ for a minute. She may be in trouble . . .or she may be playing one of her games."

"What games?" Neal tore himself free and started walking. Mozz kept up. "She's a _victim,_ Mozz."

"Is she? Or is she with the ring guy?"

"No!" He grabbed Mozz and pushed him up against a building. "No. She was scared. I _know_ what she sounds like on a con, Mozz. When I take to time to _listen_, I _know. _She's scared_._"

_You took the part that once was my heart . . ._

"Okay. Fine. Could you let go, please?" Mozz straightened his glasses and brushed himself off. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to trust . . . but verify. And I'm going to need some serious back up."

Mozz's eyes widened. "You're going to the _Feebs_?"

Neal grinned. "Indirectly."

*******

**Sounds like Neal should break into "My Way," doesn't it? Stay tuned!**

_**Please**_** review on your way through. This one isn't coming easily and I could use a little reassurance . . . **


	5. So Understanding, For Once in My Life

**Okay-- after the revelation at the end of "All In," I just can't follow the canon anymore. From now on, this is just my idea of how things could go from the end of that episode--so, spoiler alert.**

**Two songs (one Dean Martin and one Frank Sintra\Dino) in this one--my chapters seem to be getting longer. Just FYI, I took a few liberties with the second song, just for emphasis. . .**

********

Neal rang the doorbell and waited, hoping that he'd picked a good time. He looked around, knowing there wasn't a tail on him--there didn't have to be, his life was a damned open book--but checking had become a reflex. Ever since the beautiful Meilin Wan had dropped the bomb on him, paranoia had been the name of the game.

He saw a shadow cross the peephole, and tried a smile. The door opened.

"Neal?"

"Can I come in?" he asked. "I need your help."

"My help?" Elizabeth Burke stood back and let him in. "Not Peter's?"

"I need a woman's advice," he said, reaching down to return the dog's enthusiastic greeting. "Peter doesn't qualify."

She laughed. "No, he doesn't. Want some coffee? "

"Yes, please." He sat at the table. Peter had a beautiful wife, he thought, watching her move around the kitchen. Her hair and eyes reminded him of Kate, though her easy smile was different . . . or he thought it was.

He hadn't seen Kate smile in a very long time.

"You look serious," she said, bringing two mugs on a tray with a pitcher of milk and the sugar bowl. She reached back, turned on the radio, and sat down. "Does Peter know you're here?" she asked, adding a little milk to her coffee.

He rolled his eyes. "He will soon enough. Your house is in-bounds now, as long as I don't get too close to your back door, but he keeps pretty close tabs on my tracker. I'm sure he'll be calling or coming by to see why I'm here."

"Then if you want this to be a private conversation, you'd better start," she said, putting down her spoon. "How can I help?"

_You're so understanding, whenever I feel blue . . ._

"Just like that?"

_Whenever I need someone, I always run to you. . . _

"Why not?"

He blinked at her. "I'm a con."

"Ex-con." She smiled. "And a friend."

"Once a con, always a con--isn't that what Peter says?"

"Neal, does the FBI go undercover to trick the bad guys into giving up the goods?"

Neal looked down at his mug. "That's a little different from what I do."

She gave him a stern look. "Not anymore." She took a sip of coffee. "Now, spill it."

He took a deep breath. "What would you do if someone told you to get something Peter had--some kind of evidence--or he'd hurt him? Would you do it?"

_Whenever things go wrong, if I have you to cling to, they're not that way for long. . ._

Her eyes went wide. "No--I'd tell him right away." She stood up, knocking her chair back. "Neal, if someone's threatening Peter--" She snatched her phone off the counter.

"No! " He half rose, reaching out a hand. "Liz, Peter is safe, I swear." At least not from Neal. "I just wanted to know what you'd do. And now I know," he added, as she straightened her chair and sat down again.

"Now that you've scared me to death, can I ask why you . . . it's Kate, isn't it?" She set her phone to one side.

_As long as you are near me, my cares are far away . . ._

Neal nodded. "It's Kate. This . . . person has her. He's keeping her somewhere, and she said he won't let her come home until I give him what he wants."

"You spoke to her?" She brightened.

_Your smile can always cheer me . . . _

"Last Friday. Just for a couple minutes, and then--"

"Well, what does he want?"

"I don't know! I don't know. Maybe just money, maybe something else I have hidden away somewhere."

"Something you . . ."

"Stole? Maybe. Probably." He waited for her reaction.

She frowned. "She didn't tell you?"

"No. She didn't know."

"That's odd." She studied him for a moment. "Look, if you don't want me to tell Peter any of this, I won't. But . . . can't _you_ tell him? If he knew, maybe he could do something."

_Oh, you're so understanding, in everything that you do . . ._

Neal turned the mug in his hands. "Yeah. That's why I need your help. You always give me the benefit of the doubt. Peter doesn't. And I really need him to this time."

"He wants to . . . it's just . . . "

The front door banged open. "Neal, what a surprise."

_And, darling, I will always be understanding too..._

"Peter," said Liz, "you're home early."

"Yeah. Thought I'd see what my wife is up to when I'm not around." He walked around the table and kissed her. "Looks like I got a two for one."

Neal sent Elizabeth a look, and she nodded. "Peter, Neal has something he wants to tell you. I want you to shut up and listen." She got up and turned down the radio a little.

_For once in my life I have someone who needs me . . ._

Peter pursed his lips. "It's that important?" he asked, looking from Liz to Neal.

"Yes," she said. Neal nodded.

"Okay." He sat down next to Liz. "I'm listening."

Neal stared at Liz. "That's all it takes?"

"Depends on whom I'm taking it from," said Peter, sending a small smile to his wife, who returned it and made an encouraging gesture at Neal.

_For once unafraid I can go where life leads me, somehow I know I'll be strong._

Neal ran a hand through his hair. "It's about Kate." When Peter didn't say anything, he continued. "You asked me why I've been hanging around Central Station . . . " He told Neal everything, about the bottle, about the note, about the phone call. ". . . but she was gone."

"She didn't tell you what it is that this guy wants?" asked Peter, the first time he'd spoken. A minor miracle, as far as Neal was concerned.

"No. She just told me to give him everything."

"Interesting. You know, it _sounds_ like--"

"She's conning me. I know. She's not." Neal took the photograph out of his jacket pocket and handed it over. "Not about this."

_For once I can touch what my heart used to dream of . . ._

Peter rubbed his chin. "This is the 'guy with the ring'?"

"His hand, yes."

"Well, I'll admit she doesn't look happy." He put down the photo and sighed. "Neal, this doesn't make sense. If this guy is after something specific, then he would tell you what it is. If he just wants to roll you for whatever you have behind door number three, he'd keep her under wraps and negotiate directly with you for her release. This cat-and-mouse, damsel-in-distress game is . . ." he spread his hands and shrugged. "And, Neal, before you tell me any more, I have to warn you--this secret stash stuff is making me uncomfortable. You're in enough trouble over the crimes we _know_ you did."

_Oh, for once in my life I won't let sorrow hurt me, not like it's hurt me before . . ._

"You're not an officer of the court, Peter."

"I'm _F.B.I.,_ Neal."

"That's not the same thing."

"No? Well, it's damned close--"

"It gets worse, Peter."

"_Worse_?"

"Ring guy is FBI."

Peter froze. "Run that by me again?"

"He's FBI, Peter."

"And you know this how?"

"Interpol," said Neal.

Peter exhaled. "Meilin Wan." He closed his eyes tight, the opened them and focused on Neal. "You believe her."

_For once I have something I know won't desert me . . . _

"I can't afford not to. And, Peter, I don't think _you_ can afford not to."

Peter kept staring.

Neal felt cold sweat on the back of his neck. This was worse than having the NYPD shooting at him--he couldn't hide, he couldn't run away. "I swear I didn't want to drag you into this, but--"

Peter held up a hand, and Neal's heart sank. But all Peter did was take a swig of Liz's coffee. He made a face, and put down the mug. "Milk," he said. "Damn it, Neal, why is _nothing_ straightforward with you?"

_I'm not alone anymore . . . _

Elizabeth got up, squeezed Peter's shoulder, and went into the kitchen.

Neal could only shake his head. "Damned if I know."

Peter sighed and accepted a mug of fresh coffee from Liz. "Okay. I can see this three ways." He held up a finger. "One, Kate is making up the whole thing in order to collect your entire . . . ah . . . retirement fund."

_For once I can say this is mine--you can't take it . . . _

"Not possible."

"Two," said Peter, holding up another finger. "Someone in the Bureau read your file and got greedy."

_I can make it . . . for once in my life . . . _

"Possible," said Neal. "And three?"

"Three," said Peter, "is that someone is trying to get you put away for life, and is using Kate to get the evidence."

Neal's eyes widened. "Kate wouldn't do that."

_Oh, for once in my life I won't let sorrow hurt me . . . _

"She might not have a choice. She might think she's helping you. Or she might think she can pull a Neal Caffrey and win the day." He shook his head. "No offense, Neal, but I'm less concerned with Kate's motivation than Mr. Fancy Ring's. Because if he does manage to get that evidence . . . "

"He'll discredit you and half the Bureau, not only for not following up on my alleged crimes, but for letting me out as a consultant."

"Right. You go back in, and I go back down."

_Not like it's hurt me before . . . _

Neal picked up his mug, took a sip of cold coffee, and grimaced. When Liz reached for it, he covered the top and shook his head. "So, what do we do?"

"We're going to do what we each do best."

_For once I have something I know won't desert me . . . _

"What's that?"

"I'm going to trust," Peter tapped the signet ring in the photo, "and verify."

"And me?"

"You're going to find us a way out of this mess."

Neal grinned. "My way?"

Peter bared his teeth in a smile that reminded Neal that this was the agent who had caught him. Twice.

"_Any _way."

_I'm not alone anymore . . . _

*******

**There. I'm going to try my best to get this done before next Friday.**

**Please review--this is really my first time changing (or potentially changing) big things in a canon. Other people seem to have no problems with it, but I get angsty . . . **_**  
**_


	6. Style

**Thank you to everyone who reviewed or added a story alert! I really appreciate it!**

**Here's the build up to the big scene . . . I think . . . **

**The song is from _Robin and the Seven Hoods--_and is exactly what came to my mind the first time Neal tried on his fedora. My favorite version is sung by Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, and Bing Crosby . . . **

*******

June greeted Peter at the door and walked with him to Neal's room, although he'd been there before. Though she kept the conversation light at first, something was clearly on her mind. "Agent Burke," she said, as they climbed the stairs, "is something going on? With Neal?"

"What makes you say that?"

"I've seen him focused before . . . but never like this. It reminds me of . . .well, of Byron."

"Your husband?"

"Yes. I'm sure you had me and mine investigated when Neal moved into my home, so I don't have to tell you the sort of things Byron allegedly did." She stopped at the top of the stairs and gave him a serene, unoffended smile.

"No, no you don't." Peter had read June's profile, and by extension learned something about Byron. She was a fascinating woman . . . and her late husband had been equally fascinating, in a different way.

"Well, when he was allegedly doing what he allegedly did, you couldn't break his concentration with a sledgehammer. It's not that Neal isn't himself," she said, continuing down the hall. "But he's . . . honed."

"We've got a sort of . . . complicated case going on right now," said Peter, smiling what Elizabeth called his 'official reassuring smile.' "But there's nothing to worry about."

June stopped by Neal's door and gave him a once over. "You seem a little honed yourself, Agent Burke." She raised her eyebrows. "You will tell me when it's time to hide the silver and batten down the hatches?"

Peter's lips twitched. "Yes, ma'am, I will."

"Thank you." She walked away, and Peter found himself thinking that Elizabeth would be just like June someday. "Something to look forward to," he said to himself, opening the door and shutting it behind him.

The room was a mess. There were books, papers, and what might be finished projects spread over most available surfaces. In the center of the floor, Neal was working in front of a paint-spattered easel, set up so the sunlight fell on it from the open windows. Music came from the sound system along one wall.

_You've either got or you haven't got style. ._ .

Peter could see what June had meant. Neal never seemed to blink much, especially when he was trying to convince someone of his sincerity, but now those intense eyes were all but burning holes in the canvas.

_If you've got it, you stand out a mile. . ._

He cleared his throat.

"Hello, Peter," said Neal, not sparing him a glance. "Find out anything?"

_A flower's not a flower if it's wilted . . . A hat's not a hat till it's tilted._

Peter came further into the room and leaned against the counter, careful not to disturb any of the haphazard piles of books and papers. "Someone's been accessing your tracker. A lot. Mark down in IT ran a list of the top logins."

"You tell him why?"

"Told him I thought you were trying to hack the system."

_You've either got or you haven't got class. . . _

Neal snorted. "Thanks a lot."

Peter grinned. "Your reputation didn't suffer, believe me. He already thinks you're wicked awesome."

_How it draws the applause of the masses . . . _

Neal's eyebrows rose as he dabbed a little cadmium yellow in a corner. "_Wicked awesome_?"

Peter shrugged. "They're hiring younger and younger these days."

Neal frowned, cocked his head, and dabbed again. "Who's on the list?"

"Cruz. Jones. Lancing. Hughes. Ruiz. Me."

"Joe Ruiz? Your frenemy from Organized Crime?"

_With mother of pearl kind of buttons . . ._

"Yeah, but he lost interest in you after we arrested Maria Fiametta."

_You look like the Astors and Huttons . . ._

"Hmm. Who has the most interest in where I am?"

"You have to ask?"

"Besides you, Peter."

"It's a tie between Jones and Cruz. Diana is right behind them, then Hughes. All people who have a legitimate reason for keeping tabs on you." Peter folded his arms and watched Neal. "You know, the interesting thing about the list isn't the names, it's the _timing_."

_You've either got or you haven't got style . . . _

"Timing," said Neal, putting his brush down and selecting another. "You mean people are tracking me when they aren't around to do it?"

"Maybe, but there's remote access, so that isn't what tipped me off. It seems both Cruz and Jones accessed your tracker during the Lao job."

Neal stopped painting. "When my tracker was off?"

"Right. And since they were the ones who took _off_ your tracker . . . "

"They wouldn't have bothered to access the program."

"Bingo."

_If you've got it, you stand out a mile. . . _

Neal exhaled. "So you have someone at the FBI using other people's passwords."

"Yeah. This is getting worse and worse . . . But at least Cruz and Jones are clear, which is a relief." Peter was used to bouncing idea off other agents . . . and it felt strange, alien, that only person he could trust with this messy Bureau problem. . .was Neal.

"Maybe. But both of them are smart enough to plant a false trail, just in case."

Peter shook his head. "We can play 'what if' until we're chasing our tails. Let's not overcomplicate things. Cruz wasn't around when you escaped, so maybe--"

"No. No, she wrote about me. She knows me. She . . ." Neal broke off and shook his head. "There's no reason to think she couldn't do this."

_A flower's not a flower if it's wilted . . . _

"By that reasoning, _I _might be behind all this--there's a lot of things we couldn't pin on you, you know. Be a couple more feathers in my cap."

_A hat's not a hat till it's tilted. . ._

"I considered that."

"Yeah? Really?"

Neal nodded, intent on his brushstrokes. "You had me use your set of lockpicks to break into that warehouse the other day. A set of picks with my fingerprints on them wouldn't hurt your case."

"We needed to get inside quickly without noise," said Peter. "I wiped them later."

"I know." Neal jerked his head to the table. "They're over there."

_You've either got or you haven't got . . . _

"Son of a--"

"Trust, but verify, Peter. You taught me that."

"The hell I did." He stomped to the table.

Neal looked up. "I needed to know, Peter. I'm sorry, but this is too important."

Peter kept frowning, but nodded. "Yeah, I get it." He stuck the case in his pocket. "You know, if this guy is the reason Kate broke it off with you--"

"Then he's been working on it a long time. I know."

_You've either got or you haven't got class . . . _

Peter sighed. "How are things on your side?'"

Neal smiled. "Not bad. A friend is making the rest of the arrangements."

"Ah--Mr. Haversham?"

"The one and only."

_How it draws the applause from the masses . . . _

"You trust him?"

Neal thought about it. "Yes," he said, sounding a little surprised.

"Honor among thieves?"

"Honor among friends," Neal said, shooting him a look. "Plus, if Mozzie is in on this, Kate wouldn't be so scared."

"If she is."

Neal ignored that. "Hey, Peter?"

"Still here."

"Is Elizabeth your weakness?"

_A flower's not a flower if it's wilted . . . _

"No," said Peter, without thinking. "She's my strength. And I'd like to think that I'm hers."

_A hat's not a hat, 'til it's tilted . . . _

Neal turned to rummage through the paint tubes on the small table next to him, but Peter heard him anyway. "I hope I can have that someday."

"I hope you do, too," Peter said, just as softly.

Neal nodded, selected a tube, and got back to work.

_You've either got or you haven't got charm . . . _

"You think this is going to work?"

"It should." Neal gestured to the stacks of books with his brush. "I've done my research."

Peter went over, selected the top book and opened it to a marked page. "This isn't quite what I expected when I told you to do things your way."

Neal shrugged. "I'm evolving." He put down his brush and palette and stretched. Peter heard his spine crack. "Ouch. What do you think?"

Peter walked around to view the canvas. He frowned. "It's a little--"

Neal grinned. "I know."

_Style and charm seem to go arm in arm . . . _

"Okay," said Peter. "What now?"

"We wait for the paint to dry, I guess. Kate didn't leave any more clues, so . . . " he frowned, then shook his head.

_You've either got, or you haven't got . . . _

"Got something?"

"I--no, it's gone. Never mind. If it comes back, I'll tell you." He went to run a hand through his hair, noticed his paint-smeared hands, and grimaced. "I want this to be over."

_Got or you haven't got . . ._

"I hear you . . . But I think I know a way to speed things up. I'll tell Mark to put up a special password to access the tracking program--my eyes only."

Neal chuckled. "Where's the trust, Peter?"

Peter rolled his eyes. "If our guy can't track you, he'll get nervous, maybe contact you."

"Sounds good. I'll be waiting."

Peter clapped him on the back and walked to the door.

_You've either got or you haven't got . . ._

"Hey Peter?"

"Hmm?"

"Thanks. For trusting me on this." His expression was one Peter had rarely seen and couldn't bring himself to disbelieve: quiet, honest sincerity.

Peter returned it. "S'what partners are for."

_. . . Style . . . _

*******

**Okay--one (or possible two) more chapters to go. Let me know what you think, please!**


	7. Where Angels Fear to Tread

**You never really know how many people are reading your stories until you accidentally repost a chapter! Thanks to everyone who commented or sent me a PM about Chapter Six. That will teach me to post and run.**

**For you wonderful people, here's a just finished Chapter Seven a little earlier than expected. . . hope you like it!**

**Once again, Mozz gets his own separate Dean Martin song . . . I _like_ Mozz. . . **

*******

Neal shut and locked the back door of the rental van and went around to the driver's window. "You got this?" he asked, over the blaring radio.

_I'm going to steal you away . . . Baby doll, I'm going to steal you away . . . _

"Would it matter if I said no?" Mozz shot back. "It took us two hours to load all this stuff, you know. It's gonna take me the rest of the night to unload it. _By myself._"

"You know I'd come along, but it's outside my tracker radius."

_One of these nights when all is still . . . I'm gonna climb your windowsill . . .  
_

"Yeah, yeah."

_And if my plans work okay . . . I'm gonna steal you away__ . . . _

"At least there won't be any stairs. You sure you know where everything goes? The arrangement is pretty impor--"

"Hey," Mozz glared at him. "Go teach your grandmother to stack a deck and leave the setting of scenes to the professional."

_What if detectives begin to trail me . . . what if they find us, they wouldn't jail me . . . _

"Thanks, Mozz." Neal reached in and gripped the other man's arm. "I mean it. I owe you one."

_In my cloak of misty gray . . ._

"One? Ha!" Mozz covered Neal's hand with his own for a split second, then shifted the transmission into drive. "And don't think I won't collect."

_I'm gonna steal you away . . .  
_

Neal stepped away and watched the van until it turned the corner. He dragged himself inside and upstairs, and collapsed on his bed. He was too tired to take off his shoes, so he stuck his feet out from the mattress. There were a lot of things Neal Caffrey might do--had done--but putting his shoes on the furniture wasn't among them.

Such a comfortable bed. So unlike a prison cot . . . more like the one he and Kate had bought after they'd sold those Macchiaioli reproductions--the Fattori has been particularly successful, so they'd splurged on the best mattress money could buy and a carved applewood bed frame Kate had found in an antique shop. It wasn't an antique, of course, or nothing Neal would have considered an antique, but Kate had loved it and it had made the apartment seem more like a home . . .

_I want to come home . . . _

_Come home . . . _

_Home . . . _

Neal sat up, reached for his phone, and slid until his sore feet hit the floor. "Ouch, damn it." He hit number three on his speed dial. After four rings, a voice muttered, "Burke."

"Peter. It's me. I need to go back to my apartment."

"Whazza? Neal?" The voice grew stronger. "Where are you? You okay?"

"I'm at June's, but I figured out another clue. It's at Kate's apartment--our old place. But I can't go without you, it'll set off my tracker." He knew he was talking too fast, but he couldn't help it.

"Neal," said Peter, sounding both awake and irritated. "It's two in the morning. I will not be taking you anywhere for another six hours."

"Peter, I'm going right now, with or without you. So when this thing starts beeping, that's where I'll be."

"Damn it, Neal I--" Neal heard a soft voice in the background. "He's got some idea--yeah, what else . . . no, I wasn't, actually . . . but it's two in the . . ." Neal heard Peter sigh. "I'll be there in twenty."

"Thanks, Peter. Thanks, Liz!" he hollered, and grinned as Peter said a bad word and ended the call.

Twenty minutes later, Peter pulled up. Neal slid into the passenger seat, handed him a travel mug of coffee, and changed the radio station from early-morning sports chat to his favorite station.

_Fools rush in where angels fear to tread . . . _

Peter was too busy taking a life-restoring gulp of French Roast to make his usual protest. "This had better be good," he said, banging the mug into the cupholder. He glanced in his side mirror for non-existent traffic and drove down the street. "This had better be damned good."

_And so I come to you, my love, my heart above my head . . .  
_

"It will be. . . I think," he added.

"I heard that." Peter yawned, and Neal handed him the mug. "Thanks. What do you have?"

_Though I see the danger there . . ._

Neal told him.

_If there's a chance for me then I don't care. . . _

Peter was silent for a long time. "I'm dreaming. You did _not_ just get me out of a nice warm bed with a nice, warm woman in it because you had a random thought about a bed you bought _seven years ago_."

"It was part of our _home_, Peter," Neal said. "She said she wanted to _come home_. But I think she's already there, or she left something there. Something important."

_When we met I felt my life begin . . .  
_

"And we couldn't wait until later in the morning to find out?"

Neal gave him a look. "Did you already get my tracker program locked down?"

"About an hour after I left you yesterday." Peter took another drink. "You think when our guy figured out he can't use it, he'll have you tailed?"

"That was the idea."

_So open up your heart and let this fool rush in. . . _

Peter frowned. "It's a good idea." He handed Neal the mug, and hit the gas, checking the mirrors frequently and agreeing with most of Neal's suggested alternate directions.

_Fools rush in where wise men never go . . . _

They arrived just as the sun was lighting the streets, and Peter waved thanks to the early morning commuter who provided a nearby space. "We don't have a warrant," he said.

"That's okay," said Neal. "I own the building." He got out of the car.

_But wise men never fall in love so how are they to know . . ._

"You do?" Peter followed him across the street. "How'd we miss that?"

"I didn't steal it," said Neal, tapping in the security code override. They went up in the elevator to the apartment. Neal pulled out a set of keys and raised his eyebrows.

_Though I see the danger there . . . if there's a chance for me then I don't care. . . _

Peter drew his gun and nodded. Neal unlocked the door and stepped aside to let Peter go first, trailing behind as every room was checked. The apartment seemed as empty as it had been the last time Neal was there.

_Fools rush in where angels fear to tread . . . _

Not possible. . . he couldn't have been wrong . . .this was _home_ . . . wasn't it?

_And so I come to you, my love, my heart above my head . . .  
_

He went into the bedroom, looked around. He went to the closets and began searching. When he reached the bottom right drawer on his side, he found it.

_When we met, I felt my life begin . . . So open up your heart and let this fool rush in. . . _

"Kate loves the classics," he said.

Peter came up, holstering his gun. "There's no one here. You find something?"

Neal held up the disposable cell phone. "In my underwear drawer."

_Fools rush in where wise men never go . . .  
_

"It wasn't here before?"

"No."

"You sure?"

_But wise men never fall in love so how are they to know . . .__  
_

Neal flipped it open. "It's charged." He fiddled with it a minute. "No contacts, no called numbers, no missed calls . . . Text message!" He stared at the password prompt and tapped in four numbers: 4663. "Home," he said, as the message opened.

There weren't any words, only an image. Grainy, but recognizable--down to the ring. He turned to show it to Peter.

Peter stared at it. "Damn. I wasn't expecting that."

_Though I see the danger there . . . if there's a chance for me then I don't care. . ._

"I know it's not proof," said Neal. "It isn't evidence."

"No, but it's a big help." Peter grinned. "I'm beginning to think that Kate is on your side."

"Yeah. Me, too." Neal looked at the image. He'd never been a violent man, never fired a gun or wanted to--until now. "Got you," he said.

_When we met I felt my life begin . . ._

"Not yet," said Peter, his expression grim. "But we will."

_So open up your heart and let this fool rush in. . ._

_*******_

**I swear, the next chapter will reveal all . . . as soon as I figure out whose image is in that *$^%* phone . . . . **


	8. Just One more Chance

**Okay, here be the key chapter, where all—or most—is revealed. It's as good as I can make it--hope it doesn't disappoint.**

**The soundtrack starts a little later in this one . . . but it's one of my favorites.**

*******

The call came two days later. The voice on the phone was filtered, unrecognizable, but Neal was careful to record it on the machine Peter had provided.

"Caffrey. I'm through messing around. Give me what I want, and I'll send your girlfriend back to you in one piece."

"What exactly do you want?" asked Neal. "Kate didn't seem to know."

"I want all of your treasures: letters, original artwork, bonds, cash . . . I want it all, down to the last poker chip."

"It isn't all in one place," said Neal. "I'll need a couple of days--"

"Don't lie to me, Caffrey. You didn't have time to scatter everything before your arrest. You moved the bulk of it from San Diego days before Burke finally ran you down."

Neal exhaled. "Can't blame a guy for trying."

"I can." The voice paused. "And every time you lie to me, the piece of Kate you get back will be a little smaller."

"Okay, okay," Neal wiped his forehead with his sleeve. "It's in a high security storage unit."

"Where?"

"In the boroughs," said Neal. "I'll exchange directions and the key code for Kate."

"No," said the voice. "You'll give me the directions now, and we'll make the exchange on site."

"I can't," said Neal. "I have a tracker around my ankle, and the unit is miles past my limit."

"Don't tell me the great Neal Caffrey can't figure out how to slip the leash," said the voice.

"Not with the Feebs keeping tabs on me," said Neal.

"Then you'd better not waste any time when we get there," said the voice. "Give me the directions."

Neal did. "When do you want to meet?"

"Two hours," said the voice. "Don't make me wait."

Neal closed his phone. "Wouldn't dream of it," he said. "How was that?"

"_Feebs_?" asked Peter, who was standing behind the technician operating the equipment set up on Neal's table. Like Mark from IT, she was a relatively new hire, and therefore presumed safe.

"Sorry. You get anything?"

"Think so," said the tech. She made a few adjustments to the console and worked the mouse. "Let's try this."

The voice played back in a higher register. "Don't lie to me, Caffrey. You didn't have time to scatter everything before your arrest. You moved the bulk of it from San Diego days before Burke finally ran you down." In the background, there was a tapping sound, like someone typing quickly on a keyboard.

"It's definitely a woman," said the tech.

"That's Kate," said Neal. "She's reading, maybe from a computer screen."

"You sure?" asked Peter.

"I can," said the voice, and this time the hesitation and nervousness were obvious as it continued. "And every time you lie to me . . .the p-piece of Kate you get back will be a little s-smaller."

"I'm sure." Neal slammed his fist on the tabletop, startling the tech.

"Well," said Peter. "I guess we'll have to do this the hard way."

Neal leveled a look at him. "Good. Let's go."

***

A little under two hours later, Neal stood in front of the storage unit, fiddling with his hat and humming under his breath.

_Just one more chance, to prove it's you alone I care for . . ._

Footsteps echoed down the wide corridor.

Neal donned his hat and leaned against the wall, arms folded. Showtime.

_Each night I say a little prayer for. . ._

Despite his efforts, he went still as Kate came around the corner, followed closely by the person in the image. "Kate," he said. "Are you all right?" He wanted to hold her, touch her to make sure, but this wasn't the right time.

_Just one more chance . . . _

She nodded, her blue gaze moving over his features. She opened her mouth as if to say something, but didn't.

_Just one more night . . . to taste the kisses that enchant me . . ._

"She's fine," said her escort. "Give me the code."

_Just one more night . . . to taste the kisses that enchant me . . . _

Neal rattled it off. "Kate—" He stopped as a gun appeared in the beringed hand.

_I'd want no others if you'd grant me . . ._

"Not yet. Let's all take a look at the goods. And God help you if the room is empty."

_Just one more chance . . . _

"It isn't." Neal worked the lock and opened the door. He and Kate were waved ahead by her captor, who hit the lights with a free hand.

The room was crowded with boxes and crated paintings, all numbered with blue or red chalk and all slightly dusty. The tops of some of the crates fit imperfectly, as if they'd been packed in a hurry.

_I've learned the meaning of repentance . . . _

"Let's see what Neal Caffrey has in his collection, shall we?" The gun waved Kate to the crates. Kate paused by the one directly opposite the door, looking down at the number. She pried off the loose plank and carefully slid the painting out. She glanced at Neal, her brow wrinkled.

_Now you're the jury at my trial . . . .  
_

He shrugged. "It's ugly, but it's genuine."

"What is it?"

_I know that I should serve my sentence . . . still I'll be hoping all the while . . . _

"An early Jackson Pollack," said Kate in an expressionless voice. "It's worth nearly a half million to the right collector."

"Satisfied, Diana?" asked Neal.

_You'll give me just one more word . . . One more chance . . . . ._

"That's Agent Lancing to you," she said. "You don't seem surprised to see me."

"Should I be?" He thought about mentioning Kate's clue, but it was too risky. "It's easy enough to hire an actor to wear a ring in front of some security cameras, especially in California."

"Well done." She held up her hand, displaying the resized ring. "Of course, I've been wearing it for months, and you haven't noticed. Kate bought it for you as a homecoming gift, by the way. Surprise."

_To prove it's you alone I care for . . . . .  
_

He shrugged, casually easing between the gun and Kate. "I haven't seen you lately. Not since Fashion Week."

"Oh, I've been around. I have a talent for being overlooked."

Neal lifted his eyebrows and gave her a once over. "Now that's surprising. You're a beautiful woman."

_Each night I say a little prayer for . . . just one more chance_ . . .

"Flattery will get you nowhere with me, Neal." She looked at him in contempt. "No dancing for you."

"I know Peter admires you--he considers you an established part of the team."

She snorted. "I'm an established part of the office background--no one sees me unless they need something." She shook her head. "And it's amazing how many people log in when I'm standing right behind them."

"You should bring that up at the next workplace safety seminar."

"And lose my advantage?" She cracked a smile. "I don't think so. And back up, Neal, or I _will_ shoot Kate through you."

_I've learned the meaning of repentance . . . _

Neal did as he was told, taking off his hat and tossing it on a box. "So you're not going to quit your day job?"

She barked a laugh. "This is going to _make_ my day job. All I have to do is wait for your tracker to bring in the cavalry."

_Now you're the jury at my trial . . . _

"So this was never about the money."

"No, Neal. This was about the _credit._ I've just singlehandedly uncovered enough evidence to nail you for all the crimes that the famous Peter Burke couldn't. . . Then maybe _I'll_ get my own office and the chance to head up my own team of Harvard grads. And Burke will be doing the coffee runs."

_I know that I should serve my sentence . . . still I'll be hoping all the while . . . _

"And what have you planned for us?" He glanced at Kate, who was fidgeting with her jacket. He knew that sign . . . He sent her a silent plea to hold off, to hang in there, but her attention was on Diana.

_You'll give me just one more word . . . _

"Burke put you away for four short years--I'm going to put you away for _decades_. And if you don't wait like a good boy, you'll be going back for the murder of your girlfriend, here."

_I said that I was glad to start out. . .but now I'm back to cry my heart out . . . _

"No!" Kate reached around and drew a tube from her waistband, twisting off the cap and striking it in one fluid motion. She held it out at arm's length, letting red sparks drip from the end. "I won't let you do it," she said. "I won't let you send him back."

_For just one more chance . . . _

"You useless bitch." Diana pointed the gun at her. "Do you really think I'll let you wreck everything?"

Neal started forward, but stopped at Diana's command. "Kate . . . "

_Just one more night . . . _

"She said she'd have you killed in prison unless I took her to your stash," she said, "But it wasn't in San Diego anymore. . . and then you escaped and I thought you were _safe_ . . . but she told me about the tracker, and she _always_ knew where you were . . . I thought she just wanted to roll us, and if we gave her everything she'd leave us _alone_ . . . but she won't. She's _FBI_, Neal. So I'm going to burn it all." She brought the end of the flare close to the Pollack crate. "None of this stuff is as important as you. You aren't going back."

_I'd want no others if you'd grant me . . . _

"You're wrong, Kate," said Neal, in as calm a voice as he could muster. "None of this is as important as _you._ Please—put it down."

_Just one more chance . . ._

"Oh, this is so sweet," said Diana, amused. "And an attempted arson charge would wrap up the last loose end very nicely, without any need for ballistic reports." She glanced at her watch. "Burke's bunch should be arriving any second now."

Neal turned on her. "You do realize that you've been monologuing this whole time?"

_Just one more word . . . _

"Please, Neal. You're _criminals_. Who'd take your word over mine?"

"I would," said Peter, appearing from behind a stack of boxes, gun in hand. "Anyone else?"

"With you, boss," said Jones from an opposite corner.

"Same here," said Lauren, moving between Diana and Kate without hesitation.

Neal leaned back against a box and blew out a breath. He looked at Kate, who was frozen in place, the tube still burning in her hand.

"Well, Peter," said Diana, changing her aim to Neal without blinking. "I guess I underestimated your bond with Caffrey."

"People do," said Neal.

_I've learned the meaning of repentance . . ._

Peter's lips twitched, but his gun held steady. "Give it up, Diana. We all heard you threaten Kate. And confess to a couple of other things Hughes is going to be very interested to hear."

_Now you're the jury at my trial . . . _

"You might throw kidnapping in there somewhere," said Neal. "She forced Kate to cross quite a few state lines . . . wouldn't that make it a _federal_ crime?"

"Why, yes," said Peter. "Yes it would."

Diana's face twisted, but she held up her hands. Peter snaked forward and took her gun. "I _trusted_ you, Diana," he said, moving behind her.

She lifted her chin, sending a death glare toward Neal. "You have a habit of trusting the wrong people, Peter."

"Not always," he said, wrenching her arms down and back.

_I know that I should serve my sentence . . ._

"Kate," said Neal. "Please put the flare down, now."

_Still I'll be hoping all the while . . ._

She wavered, looking from Lauren to Jones to Peter. "Are you sure?"

_You'll give me one more chance . . . _

He nodded. "Trust me. These are my friends. We're safe now." And because it was finally true, he waited only until she'd set the sputtering flare in a clear space before taking her carefully into his arms, closing his eyes for a moment as she returned his embrace, holding onto him with desperate arms.

"Hi, Kate," he said, lowering his mouth to hers, clinging there for a timeless moment.

_To taste the kisses that enchant me . . ._

"Hi, Neal," she said, when she could.

_I'd want no others if you'd grant me . . . just one more chance . . . _

He pulled away only enough to bring her hand up to his lips, but she winced. He stared at the blistered, angry burn. "Peter! Kate's hurt!"

_I've learned the meaning of repentance . . .  
_

Peter said something into his radio, and Thompson arrived a couple minutes later with a first aid kit. "Jones," he hollered, trying to dress Kate's burns under Neal's worried supervision. "Get this idiot out of my light."

"Hey, Neal," said Jones, knocking on a crate, "mind if I take a look?"

"Neal?" asked Kate, worry in her eyes.

He smiled at her and winked. "Sure," he said, walking over. "The top of that one should be loose."

_I know that I should serve my sentence . . . _

"At least your precious thief will be going back inside," Diana said, grimacing as the cuffs tightened on her wrists.

"How do you figure that?" asked Peter.

She indicated the room. "Even you can't let this much evidence slide."

_Still I'll be hoping all the while . . ._

"Evidence of what?" said Jones, pulling out a painting. "Bad art?"

"What?" Diana moved forward. "What the hell is that?"

_For one more chance . . . _

"That's my own personal reflection on motherhood as embodied by two deer in the woods," said Neal, with some satisfaction. "In acrylics," he added. "I dabble."

"What about the Pollack?" She pointed to the crate with 4663 scrawled on the front.

"That 's a recent investment of mine," Neal said. "Got it for a steal from the owner."

Lauren snorted.

"I'm not surprised," said Jones. "It's even worse than these."

"Hey," said Neal. "Those are genuine Caffreys, signed and everything. They're going to be worth big money someday."

"They're paint-by-numbers, Neal. And you didn't stay inside the lines."

"He never does," said Peter, trading Thompson Diana for the kit.

_I said that I was glad to start out . . . _

Lauren picked up his hat. "Neal Caffrey and his amore," she said, offering it to him. "Together again."

_But now I'm back to cry my heart out__ . . . _

"Thank you." He leaned over and kissed her cheek. "You were the one who made me search for some answers," he said. "If it hadn't been for you, I might have lost everything." He put on the hat and smiled at her.

"Yeah," she said, reaching up and tilting it at a rakish angle. "How dumb was I?" She walked over to Jones, who was examining a few more paintings and shaking his head.

"The Caffrey charm," said Diana, sneering as Thompson hauled her off. "Do all women fall for it?"

"Everyone except you," said Neal, cheerfully.

"And Brittani Nicole in second grade," added Peter. "He had a gap in his teeth."

_I'd want no others if you'd grant me . . .  
_

"I got over it," said Kate, slipping a bandaged hand into Neal's. "Once his braces came off."

_Just one more chance . . . _

*******

**Not quite the end . . . **


	9. All I want From You

**The last chapter . . . and this was supposed to be a one-shot. Holy Cow.**

**Thanks again to everyone who reviewed (and helped me with Neal's eye color—a good excuse to buy a new TV, I think), and to those who were kind enough to put this story on alert--or even in your favorites (wasn't expecting that at all). I really appreciate the encouragement!**

**I couldn't wrap up without using Dean Martin's signature song **_**somewhere**_**, so I slipped it into the first section. The second song was always going to close the story—though it was tempting to have Mozz and Neal square off with "Anything You Can Do, I Can Do Better." Maybe next time . . .**

*******

Neal watched from the couch as Elizabeth and Kate talked in a corner of June's living room. They were so much alike, he thought, in some ways.

_You're nobody till somebody loves you . . .you're nobody till somebody cares . . . _

The dark hair and blue eyes, the graceful way they both moved. That was the same. But Elizabeth had a kind of inner poise and strength, part of which might have come from dealing with Peter's obsession with his job and his frequent absences. Kate, though, seemed wary, as if looking over her shoulder had become a habit she couldn't break--which, he supposed, was from dealing with _Diana's_ obsession and _Neal's _extendedabsence.

_You may be king, you may possess the world and its gold . . . _

For the second time in as many days, he wondered if _he_ was worth what she'd gone through. . . and whether she thought so now that it was over.

_But gold won't bring you happiness when you're growing old. . . _

Peter dropped next to him. "Think they're talking about us?" he said, leaning over to grab few of the excellent hors d'oeuvres that June had set out.

At that moment, Kate and Liz both glanced over at the couch. The sound of their laughter made Neal both happy and uncomfortable. "Oh, yeah," he said.

"Kate is . . .different than I thought she'd be." said Peter.

_You're nobody till somebody loves you . . ._

"Me, too," said Neal. He fiddled with a rye round and set it down. "I've seen her crash an Embassy ball without missing a beat, talk to anyone about anything . . . but tonight she's . . ."

"Vulnerable? A little lost?"

"Yeah."

"Well, except for you and Mr. Haversham, over there, she's surrounded by strangers, some of whom have connections she's learned to distrust. But Elizabeth seems to be breaking the ice, and June seems to like her."

_You're nobody till somebody cares__ . . . _

"She does." In fact, June had offered her other spare bedroom to Kate, to the secret relief of Neal, who had practically kept vigil outside her door, in case she disappeared during the night. They'd spent the day at the Bureau, being interviewed in separate rooms, and come back here.

_Oh, you're nobody till somebody really loves you . . .  
_

"So don't worry. She just like any other woman being introduced to friends of her, ah . . . " Peter gestured with a free hand as he took a bite of smoked salmon.

_So find yourself somebody to love. . . _

Neal sighed. "You know, Peter, if the last six months were half as bad for her as they were for me--and I'm pretty sure they were _worse_ . . . I will _never_ be arrested again."

Peter snorted and coughed. "So the great Neal Caffrey will be keeping to the straight and narrow from now on?"

_The world still is the same, you'll never change it . . ._

"Well," said Neal, with a small smile. "More or less. Wouldn't want to lose my usefulness to the Bureau."

"Thinking about signing on permanently?"

Neal rolled his eyes. "Felon, remember? No guns, no clearance, no Quantico . . ."

_As sure as the stars shine above . . ._

"As a consultant, not an agent."

Neal paused. Keep doing what he was doing? Be Robin Hood for real? "I don't know," he said. "What do you think?"

"I think there's an empty spot on my team. Be nice to fill it with someone I can trust." He clapped Neal on the shoulder and got up to help Elizabeth add more records to the stack on the turntable.

_You're nobody till somebody loves you . . . _

Kate took Peter's place. "Neal?" she waved a bandaged hand and he blinked at her. "You look like you just pulled off a Triple Kujau with a lipstick and a couple of legal pads."

_So find yourself somebody to love . . ._

"I think I just did, in a way." He reached out a hand and she took it. It was so good to be able to do that, to reach out and have her _be_ there . . .

"Neal?" Kate said quietly, looking down. "Where do we go from here?"

_Oh, you're nobody till somebody really loves you__ . . . _

Neal looked around. June and Mozz were at the card table having what looked like a shuffling exhibition, while discussing some arcane martial arts cult film that might or might not be the predecessor to something called _Snake in the Monkey's Shadow._ Elizabeth and Peter were in the middle of the room, doing a respectable foxtrot and smiling at each other in a way that Neal envied, coveted . . .

_So find yourself somebody to love..._

"How about the roof?"

***

Neal turned on the outside speakers while Kate wandered over to lean against the parapet.

_A little love that slowly grows and grows . . . _

He followed and wrapped his arms around her. She leaned against him, and for a silent moment, they looked out over the lights of the city.

_Not one that comes and goes . . . That's all I want from you . . . _

She sighed. "I never thought much past you coming home, and then making sure you were safe, and now . . ."

"And now everything's different," he said. "_We're_ different."

_A sunny day with hopes up to the sky . . . _

She nodded. "You fit in with them," she said. "Not just Mozzie and June. Agent Burke and the others. You're on their side now." Her tone was sad, but not condemning.

_A kiss and no goodbye . . ._

"It's only for a couple of years," he said, knowing this was probably a lie. "And it's not so different from what I used to do." He chuckled. "Sometimes they think it's not different enough."

"You're using the past tense," she said. "What you _used to_ do . . . Will I fit into your new life?"

_Don't let me down or show me that you don't care . . ._

"If you want to." He kissed the top of her head, breathed in the scent of her hair. "Will I fit into yours?"

She stilled. "My life has always been with you."

_Remember when you give you also get to share . . ._

"I know." He tightened his hold. "But I never asked you if it was the life you wanted. Now, I am."

"But . . .but if you're not in the game anymore . . .what do you need from me?"

_Oh, a little love that slowly grows and grows . . . not one that comes and goes . . ._

"Kate," he turned her in his arms. "I want--I _need_--whatever you're willing to give. I want you to tell me what _you_ need. I love you," he said. "And I'd like to get to know you again." He lifted her chin with a finger. "I'm hoping you'd like to get to know me, too."

_A sunny day with hopes up to the sky . . ._

She brushed her wet eyes with a hand. 'I'd like that," she said. "But what if it doesn't work? What if I can't . . .what if you don't . . . "

_A kiss and no goodbye . . . _

He dropped a soft kiss on her mouth. "I'm here for at least four years," he said "Does that sound like enough time to figure it out? Together?"

_That's all I want from you . . ._

She reached up and traced the side of his face with her fingers until she reached his lips. "I'd like that very much," she said, and he released the breath he didn't know he'd been holding.

_Oh, a little love that slowly grows and grows . . . that's what I want from you . . .  
_

He gathered her up in a swinging hug that had them both laughing, and she slid her mouth over his in a kiss that had them both breathless.

_That's all I want from you..._

Their embrace shifted, her head moving to his shoulder, his hand to her back, and they moved to the music, welcoming each other home.

_. . .that's all I need from you._

*******

**Done.**

**So . . . ? How about one last review, for old time's sake? **


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